A Void Sanctuary
by Kerriathechosen1
Summary: After the defeat of the machine, a lonely 7 reflects on what has been lost, and realizes that there may be more to find.


Dust blanketed the surface of the smooth metallic lid. A pale-bodied homunculus-like rag doll lay beside the tin box, both resting atop a worn and cluttered desk, which hadn't seemed to have been touched in years. An infant's wails could be heard from down the hallway, captured on an old video tape long ago, back when the humans were still alive. The tape was being played on the old living room television, illuminating the halls of the beaten-down house. The rag doll confusedly lifted its head from the desk at the sound, but, remembering despairingly that the humans were extinct, sighed, and dropped it again.

It wasn't the first time the feminine stitchpunk had allowed itself – herself – to become hopeful for unjustifiable reasons. When she, 9, and the twins had decided to return to the Sanctuary to sleep one night, she had been unable to rest, mind wide awake reminiscing of those they had lost. She'd waited until she was certain that the others were asleep, and then got up and wandered about the home of her past, recalling what she used to find in each one.

In that room, 2 and 5 would fool around with various objects and materials, and they would somehow invent marvelous tools and contraptions that made their lives much easier. Over there, 6 would use his black ink and stained pen-nib fingers to draw his strange visions on pieces of paper, and 8 would tease him by stepping all over them and smudging them up. And in that chair, 1 would sit with that smug face of his, wallowed up in his undeserved dignity and pride, as if he was the ruler of them all. Even he, 7 knew, she would do anything to bring back. She missed them all. It was lonely, being one of the only four cognizant beings in the world.

3, 4, and 9 were equally as sad, no doubt. 9 still harbored immense guilt for the others' deaths, and as much as 7 wanted to protest his claims that it was all his fault, she knew he was right. Without 9's interference, perhaps 2 would have still been alive. 2, the kind, goofy genius who died protecting 9 from his own mistake… No one (except perhaps 1) could have expected or wanted his demise. It was unfair.

Truly, all their deaths had been unfair. 8 had been unlucky enough to be captured by the Seamstress, and 9 hadn't been able to rescue him in time like he had been with 7. 5 had chased after a rolling CD which led him right into the Machine's clutches. 6 had been snatched up in his attempt to stop the others from destroying it. 1 had allowed his soul to be sacrificed instead of 9's so that the Machine could be stopped. And it **_WAS _**stopped – though 9's actions ended the existence of five of their fellow stitchpunks, it also ended those of their enemies, allowing the world to rest in peace.

And life would one day begin anew. The twins had discovered, through a few heavy textbooks in the library, that microorganisms were likely still alive, and further life forms could mutate over time. There was hope for the future. It might take hundreds or thousands of years, but, nonetheless, life would continue. The four remaining stitchpunks had made a promise to one another that they would work their hardest to create an earth fit for life. They would clean up the mess made by their predecessors so that, if there ever were humans again on this planet, they would be able to have a fresh start.

This hope was vibrant within the twins, who remained as excitable and energetic as ever. They spent much of their time playing about, reenacting sports and games they had learned about from books, but did not fall behind in their work, either. They went about, collecting whatever trash they could find, and placed it in empty bottle containers; then, all the bottles and cans and other garbage were collected and placed in the area designated as a dump. Usually the four of them did this as a group, together, and often it was much more difficult and took much longer than one might think, considering their tiny size and lack of transportation. They had decided to go back to the 1st room and find out if their creator had left them anything else that might help them on their long and draining quest, but it had become late, so they'd chosen to rest back at the Sanctuary for the night.

And that led 7 to where she was now, the 1st room, wallowing in the depths of despair as she wondered if there could truly be any hope or happiness living alone in such a world of ruin. Sure, she was used to being on her own with the twins, but there had always been a part of her that knew, beyond a doubt, that there were other stitchpunks out there, that 1 was keeping them all holed up and safe, that if she wanted, she could go out and find them and she wouldn't feel so alone. But now that feeling of security was gone, dissipated, not to return again for possibly millions of years, when she would have unquestionably rotted away. 7 might still have the twins, though it was difficult to communicate with them. And even 9 couldn't fill the hole within her usually unshakable heart.

7 was strong, but the pain was more than she could bear.

Slowly, she reached her carefully-sewn hand up toward the tin box, and brushed off a layer of dust. What was within it? Surely if she was once this man, The Scientist, their creator, she should have a faint idea of what it might contain, of what it meant to him. But as hard as she tried, no memories surfaced. She came to the conclusion that, even if she embodied a part of this man's spirit, his soul, she was still not him. She was herself. All nine of them were their own selves, even if, combined, they were one. It was an almost poetic thought. But it only made her feel worse.

Finally, 7 dragged herself to her feet, and examined the tin box. She reached for its lid and began struggling to pull it off. It took all of her strength, but finally, she was able to push it up and knock it off the container. Exhausted, she fell back down, and took a few moments to catch her breath, before finally picking herself up and lifting her head over the side of the container. She peeked in to examine the contents.

Inside, a small square black-and-white photograph lay on the bottom. 7 crawled in to take a closer look. It showed an elderly man with gray hair – The Scientist, she knew – and a slightly younger man. They were shaking hands and smiling toward the camera. The background of the picture looked like something between a laboratory and the inside of a government building. 7 had no idea who this other man was, and, quite frankly, couldn't bring herself to care. He was another dead human. However, The Scientist kept this photo separate from other pictures – the stitchpunks had discovered photo albums in the living room, but this image was not one of them. Was it important?

She flipped the photo around in search of a date, and surprised herself by finding, instead, a handwritten paragraph made out to "The Remnants of My Soul".

7 hesitated. The right thing to do would be to call 9 and the twins and let them all read it together… But her curiosity won over. Her eyes traced the cursive letters and she mouthed the words as she took in the note.

_**"**__**To The Remnants of My Soul,  
If all is as it should be, you have done an extraordinary job. Thank you for bringing it upon yourselves to right our wrongs and bring peace to our world. It is all yours now."**_

7 knew that, if she were human, she would have tears forming in her eyes. She closed them, in a moment of respect for the genius who had created them, who had predicted they would have what it took to end the era of the machines, who did all he could to fix the world, even if it ended up being too late.

There was more.

_**"**__**I can not be certain of exactly what events took place after my passing. All I can assume is, 9 was able to destroy my machine. I can guess that there may have been casualties. Alas, it all is for the best."**_

Part of 7 wanted to disagree, but she knew he was right. It was all for the future. It was fine if she was tired, if she was sad, if she was suffering, as long as life went on.

_**"**__**That being said, I want to let you know that you still may not be alone."**_

Her eyes widened. What did he mean by that? Surely all life had been exterminated. They had defeated all of the robotic creations. And they were the only stitchpunks; creating 9 had taken all the life out of The Scientist. What else could be out there?

_**"**__**My colleague, pictured in this photograph, is attempting a similar experiment as to this one. I can not say more, because I do not know much else. However, he holds much promise and is full of optimism, despite our current situation. I do not know what form his creations are to take, or whether or not they will be such a success as you have been so far. I do not know if you will ever encounter them on your journey. Do not be alarmed if you are destined to meet. Sometimes it is the unexpected that brings the most hope. I wish you all luck."**_

The note ended there. 7's mouth felt dry, somehow, and she wondered – could it be true? Could there be others? Of course, no one could replace the five stitchpunks they'd lost on their way, but still, was it possible her prayers were heard?

Still, the world was a big place, especially for the tiny beings that they were. Even if there _**WAS **_something – someone – out there, was it likely they would ever find them?

Even if they didn't, there was a spark of hope within 7's soul. She felt much better knowing that there was a chance. She smiled, flipped the photo back over, and climbed out of the box.

She made her way to the floor and began walking down the dark, empty hall. She could see the flickering of the television in the distance, and hear the voice of The Scientist as he played with his granddaughter in the backyard.

Suddenly, 7 stopped. A question had come to her mind, without warning, and now she felt immobilized. The possibilities made her excited, but, just as equally, nervous.

How and why was the TV able to work?

Suddenly suspicious, she leaped onto the chair, and from there, onto the coffee table. 9 and the twins watched her, curious as to the sudden energy and purpose behind her movements. She hopped up underneath the desk lamp and pulled the string.

The light came on.

The four marveled at the bright yellow that lit up the room. They weren't used to artificial light, seeing as how they'd been living in a dark world for so long. And, yet, despite the lack of life in the world…

Electricity.

3 and 4 began flashing their eyes, capturing the moment. They hurried up to the chair and bounded up to the lamp as well, observing every fine detail of it. 7 smiled at them and hopped down to the floor to join the final stitchpunk, who was staring in awe.

9 gaped. "H-How…"

7 shook her head, her smile widening. "It looks like we're not alone."

9 just continued to stare in silence, as the twins continued to speed about the lamp. Hope was still real. Something was still out there, waiting to be discovered.

7 promised herself that she would find it. It would never have to be alone.


End file.
